Page 43 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Nineteen

William

For reasons William could neither understand nor fathom, the bridge always had an alluring pull for him, even before the night he chose to jump off it. He supposed he’d decided long ago that this would be the one place he’d come to end his life when he finally did do it again. But so many times, this was just his special place. A place to calm his chaotic mind and to watch the waters below.

Even now, he pulled the bike to a stop at almost the same place he had stopped the first night he called Rosie. It felt like a lifetime ago now, but it was just months, and so much had changed since then. So many lives different, perhaps his was the most altered, for the better.

He got off his bike and almost ran to the wall and crashed into it. He put his hands to his face, leant over the railing and swore into his hands. This had to stop. It all had to stop, or he was going to be the train wreck that took him and Rosie off the rails. The railing was there to stop people climbing on the wall. Not people like him, but people who would sit there for photographs and maybe fall off. People who wanted to be alive, who wanted to see tomorrow.

For him, it had been a great thing to lever himself up with. What a different version of himself he was now. Someone else. Someone who wasn’t the William of today, but another William … a weak William. Maybe a little Josh had seeped into him and taken grip on some parts of his mind and made it possible that he could be more than he ever was. Carly said he didn’t need Josh. That he’d created him as a way to face the things he didn’t want to. It wasn’t like that. Josh was the version of himself he wished he could be. Like putting on a mask or a cape and becoming Superman after so long spent in the oppressive shadows of Clark Kent.

He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the last second before letting go and sighing. His warm breaths came out in arcs of white fog that vanished. Below, the water lapped. It wasn’t a loud noise. More of a white noise that could be easily ignored. But if he trained himself to listen; he could hear the gentle way the water came up on the rocks and rushed down again. This was probably the one part of the river that hadn’t been disturbed by man. It was stretched out or shaped by paths built to look natural. Rocks decorated the edge, large rocks.

Further along, the river was more of a canal really. The way it was shaped and controlled by gates. The way man had interrupted the flow to control it.

The rocks down the side were cold, but dry. William left his spot by his bike and the wall and made his way to the edge where the shaped stone left a small gap, which afforded him the ability to climb down for a better view. Something he had done many times before, sitting there, smoking cigarettes he’d stolen from his mother, or bottles of vodka she’d not noticed him sneak out with. Pretending he was someone … someone more than himself.

He stepped onto the familiar flat surface of the top rock. Out here, without the wall to protect him, the air was cold, blowing a little, and it took his breath and made him gasp, but he took another step, using the larger rock as something secure to hold while he lowered himself to the next one.

His heel caught a small patch of ice. At this time of year, ice was hard to see, black in places. He snatched for the rock he’d been holding, but his hand slipped, and he smacked his hip off one sharp edge. He tried to make another grab for something, but the misty air settled onto the rocks and the cold night turned it to a slippery surface. He skidded down, grazing his hand as he went. Three rocks jarred as he slipped down them, and when he landed on the last one, the painful stop sent a jolt through his body and he fell back, skimming his face off another jagged edge. The icy air bit at his face without waiting for him to settle or catch his bearings as to what had just happened. His stomach lurched, and when he touched his fingers to his temple, the tips came away slick and wet. He was bleeding. “Great,” he breathed; his body vibrated from the fall, parts of him stung, other parts burnt where he’d scraped along things, and he let himself sit for a moment.

Good job it wasn’t all the way down. Rosie would think he’d tried to jump again. Wasn’t that ironic?

A rip in the side of his jeans let the icy breeze nip at his now grazed skin--white lines where the rock had grasped for him. He hobbled further onto the rock where he’d landed, sure as hell not ready to take another dive and maybe land in the water below.

“Oh, bloody hell.” His hand was cut and the knuckles to his right hand were dotted with blood, looking like he’d punched something. He used the edge of his shirt to wipe at it. It wasn’t so bad. Two knuckles were just grazed, another had a small cut, but it was the middle one that had taken the biggest hit. It stung when he touched it. But it was no worse than anything he’d ever done to himself. Part of him settled into the painful feeling, the way his skin ached and stung, the way his knuckles throbbed underneath.

Something rattled at the side of him, a metallic sound, or maybe plastic. Something that made a clunk against the solid foothold. He narrowed his gaze to look behind him but couldn’t see what it was. The sun would be up soon, big and bright in the cool morning sky. As he squinted up, he caught sight of a shadow at the same place he had been standing just before. At first his heart worried it would be Rosie, leaning over, looking for him, certain he’d decided to do it all again, but then he could make out the shape, and the way the hair fell, and it wasn’t Rosie at all.

“Hello,” he said, up to the person. Not that he expected an answer, or for them to help him. Actually, he wasn’t sure why he said it at all. What were they going to do? Say hello back and go on their way, and at this time in the morning?

It was always easier getting up the rocks than it was coming down them, even with a bruised hip and a cut hand. Ice was the biggest problem. As William made his way back up, his cold fingers slipped on the frozen edges and he nearly lost his footing again. At this rate, it would have been easier to go down and walk around than to go up, but stubbornness made him carry on and made him push past the feeling of anxiety as he slipped, once, twice …

He let out a series of swearing.

At last, he found the source of the noise—a small ring, gold, simple and plain. He picked it up, turned it over between his fingers and then cast a glance at the woman above him. From this angle he couldn’t see her, though, so he put the ring on his pinkie finger and carried on.

The tips of his fingers were numb by the time he made it to the top and his hip ached all the way to the bone. His temple stung where the rock had grazed him, but he hobbled a little towards the woman who was standing where he had been.

Hello?” he said again. “Are you okay?”

She had one leg up, her foot resting on the edge of the wall, her hands wrapped around the railing. He had visions of himself doing the exact same thing not so long ago, just one last hoist up and over she could go, into the enveloping oblivion below them. He stopped and put his hands in front of him as if he was making a stop signal.

“Are you okay?” He tried again.

“Please,” she said. “Leave me alone.” Her voice was tight, squeaky with the sound of her tears and sorrow.

“It’s cold this morning, isn’t it?” He breathed into his hands as if to demonstrate and took a step and then another, keeping them light, short, not trying to alarm her as he grew closer. He put his hand to his chest. “My name is Josh. I was just sitting down there.” He motioned with his head to the rocks below and instantly regretted it when it felt like his brain ricocheted off his skull. “I found this.” He held up the ring and her eyes went wide when she saw it.

A gasp caught in her throat and she turned away like he’d been shining a light at her. “Please. Throw it away.”

She hadn’t moved from the ledge, but as he got closer, she made him nervous. She was one quick lunge away from doing what he’d tried to do, and in this weather, this time of year, maybe she’d succeed where he hadn’t.

Perhaps he owed the season to his survival. He’d jumped in the summer, when it was warmer. When the waters weren’t harsh, and the cold wasn’t waiting with open arms ready to take him into illness and death. While the water was still, she would die if she jumped. The cold would snake its way in and burrow into her bones until death was the only answer.

He put the ring in his pocket and held out his hand towards her. “Why don’t you come down. It’s slippery.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “Leave me alone.”

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